


A Toast To The Fallen.

by Rithalie



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Angst, Betaed, Character Death, Death, I made this team go through hell, I swear It will all get better, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Just cry this through, Magic, Mythology References, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tearjerker, Tears, Trolls, Valkyries, implied Reynir/Tuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29779086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rithalie/pseuds/Rithalie
Summary: One accident can forever change the flow of history.One decision can change the fate of many.And one crazy idea is all it takes to change Destiny.
Relationships: Lalli Hotakainen/Emil Västerström
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kat_o_nine_Tails](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_o_nine_Tails/gifts), [trashpocket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashpocket/gifts).



> So, this is actually the first thing I've ever written for SSSS fandom, and the first thing that was supposed to come to Ao3, but it had so many mistakes and shortcomings it took a long time to edit. 
> 
> I am forever thankful to @Kat_o_nine_Tails for helping me, beta'ing this fic for me and keeping up my motivation to finish. @Trashpocket I promise it will all end well, stop crying please :D  
> Without you two this fic would not have been made.
> 
> This is an extremely angsty fic, at least in the beginning. Read at your own risk!  
> Good luck!

The first one to go is Sigrun. And she goes out  _ fighting.  _

There is a troll nest, in one of the buildings they planned to ransack that day. Lalli senses it, but Sigrun overestimates the building’s structure and Emil underestimates the size of the nest.

He does not have enough explosives left when the smaller trolls give way to something bigger and nastier. They expected a vast variety of books, so Tuuri was roped into stepping over the threshold with them.

It turns out to be a mistake.

Mikkel is digging outside right next to the place the door has once been, through a thick pile of rubble that used to be a wall, or maybe a roof, trying to reach them but failing, led only by frantic screams and rushed commands coming from the collapsed cellar.

The giant looms over their heads, screeching and hissing, its multiple arms reaching towards them, kept away only by steady, if a little less focused than it should be, fire from Emil’s rifle and Lalli’s unyielding chanting. The Fin is darting around the trolls, taking out the little ones that still try to bite them, and barely avoiding multiple arms that reach out for him. His cousin sits very still back where she collapsed, when they all fell through the floor of the building, wide eyes unfocused and breath rattling. The blond cleanser stands protectively over her but his hands are trembling. 

Sigrun risks one look at her team before she has to duck under claws trying to rip her in two. Her own rifle skitters away on the damp concrete floor, belt broken and useless. She rolls over and jumps back into the fight, armed only with her knife and a slightly manic grin.

She fights with all her might, slashing and stabbing, until what’s left of the giant's eyes is a mess of blood and bone. It’s pained screech deafening and moves getting frantic. Just when they think all hope is lost, when Lalli’s ears start bleeding and Emil’s rifle gives away one last shot, Mikkel manages to get through to them. Through a hole he dug up, the sun finally shines through and illuminates the cellar.

Sigrun pushes her team toward safety, the cone of blazing sunlight shielding them from the never ending onslaught of arms, and watches as one by one they reach Mikkel’s waiting hands. Tuuri goes first, urged on by the desperate Swede, her puffy-haired form disappearing into the bright light. Then goes Lalli, the droplets of blood following in his wake, fast as lightning and reaching for Emil the moment he gains his footing outside. Her young viking tries to look back but Sigrun steers him clear with a steady hand and right into the Fin’s waiting arms. Then it’s finally Sigrun’s turn and she is already smiling, reaching out towards Mikkel, thinking about a new epic battle story she can add to her growing repertoire. 

She never reaches him.

Time seems to slow down for Tuuri and the others as they watch as one of the troll’s arms creeps closer, snaking into their shadows, past the sunlight, and towards Sigrun’s back. Emil tries and fails to cover his eyes in time as the clawed appendage strikes Sigrun right through the chest.

She is still smiling when she falls down.

This isn’t a Viking’s death.

Tuuri hopes it still qualifies but she doesn't know enough about it to be certain . Once she is safe back at the tank, she finally calms down, hiding her tear-stained cheeks in the pillow. 

It isn’t fair, not at all. She refused to be comforted when Emil came by earlier, eyes red and fake smile wavering. She refused to explain things to Reynir, letting Mikkel do the talking, feeling horrible for her selfishness and for once avoiding Lalli instead of the other way around.

Sigrun told her what kind of death is worthy of a Viking. A warrior was supposed to perish in a battle rush, fighting tooth and nail, staring death in the eyes with a smile and courage praised in sagas.

Their friend died from a stab to the back.

A coward’s death in all but this one situation, but nordic gods weren’t known to make excuses for brave Captains who only wanted to protect their subordinates.

Tuuri hides her face in the pillow and weeps.

* * *

Mikkel is not the same, afterwards. None of them are.

Reynir is even more clumsy than usual, the constant blurriness of his vision not helping his coordination and focus. He walks into walls, curls up into a ball and cries in the open and drops almost everything he is handed.

Tuuri’s tears have dried, but nightmares appeared in their stead and she migrates only between the steering wheel of the tank, her work desk and bed. Laying in the dark, she stares at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, trying to squeeze in a little sleep. She is careful not to give herself enough time to fall in too deep, in case of witnessing the horrid scene again. It doesn’t work, usually.

Emil becomes quiet, easily lost in thought and absent-minded. He sweeps through all of the remaining ammo, catalogues every little bullet and forces himself to not wonder if this or that one actually being inside his rifle at that time could have helped him save his mentor. He fails every time.

Mikkel doesn’t weep. He buries his grief down, deep beneath a thick layer of rock and snow that seems to gather in his chest, slowly suffocating him from inside out. He moves on autopilot, makes sure everyone gets to eat, and plans with Lalli the shortest way to the pick-up point and back into civilization. He sits in front of the radio, silent and patient like a statue, waiting for the signal to pick up so he could deliver the news. But the radio stays silent.

Most of the time Lalli is nowhere to be seen, and yet somehow manages to put everyone into motion. He stays up late into the morning to plan their road with Mikkel, wakes Tuuri up with a painful poke everytime she fails to get up to eat, throws his coat at Reynir to take care of after runs to distract him from crying. 

The Fin stays with Emil whenever he drifts away in those quiet moments between tasks, napping next to him or just observing with those big, tired eyes. In the dark of the night, when Mikkel’s snores taper off and Sigrun’s don’t fill the silence, he slips a hand from under the cleanser's bunk to loosely hold Emil’s when the Swede can't sleep. 

He knows death. He feels the sadness and grief coming from the depth of the abyss that spreads under his feet and flimsy wooden desks he balances on. He isn’t sure he will ever mourn this brave, abrasive red-haired woman the way others do.

He swears to himself he will try. But there’s no time for it now.

They move slowly and they are being stalked.

* * *

When the troll horde led by the horse ghost attacks, they are vastly outnumbered. They make mistakes, they lack the cooperation and direction Sigrun had usually provided and are filled with doubts instead. Emil’s hand shakes on the handle of the flamethrower, Mikkel’s eyes dart around the whole scene, his attention divided. Lalli tries to overcompensate his firepower with his magic. 

Reynir almost doesn’t make it in time to ask Onni for help.

Almost.

When Onni does reach them, Kokko swipes through the battlefield, burning bright, and for a moment Lalli allows himself to hope. 

Then that dreadful feeling of incoming catastrophe comes back tenfold and before he knows it he is in the tank and chanting, slashing at the troll that managed to get inside.

With the threat eliminated, Lalli locks his sight on a curled-up Tuuri. There is red blooming on her shoulder.

He feels himself plunge deep into the icy depth of the abyss.

* * *

Mikkel bandages Tuuri without a word. 

The tank’s engine is busted, and wires are ripped through the floor. It’s a mess, but at least it’s something Tuuri can focus on, instead of wondering.

She is so, so tired of wondering.

Emil hovers over her protectively, as if his presence now could somehow help her stay safe and sound. In rare moments he doesn’t, he accompanies Lalli to hunt and scavenge, coming back with actual prey instead of berries and mushrooms he used to get  _ before, _ when he was too squeamish to kill a healthy animal.

His eyes may be puffy but his resolve is strong.

Reynir doesn’t let himself lose any more hope. He clings to the delusion that the loss of Sigrun was enough of bad luck for this trip and Tuuri can’t possibly get sick. She just  _ can’t _ . He clings to that hope, abides by the strict quarantine rules set by Mikkel and grows bored out of his mind very quickly. 

He misses Captain Sigrun, despite her abrasiveness. He misses Tuuri, their joyful banter from before, the sight of her smile not hidden behind the mask. The soft whispered tales of their homes shared in the privacy of the night when neither of them could sleep and both were curled up on the same bunk, kept awake by homesickness. They were always the last to admit they missed their homes but those quiet conversations usually helped to quell the suffocating loneliness.

Reynir isn’t sure how much their conversations from behind closed doors help them now.

Mikkel works harder and the snow gets heavier. The radio stays silent.

Lalli feels dread. 

Onni is not around, the ghost horde is still on their tail and Tuuri is in danger. He doesn't understand his teammates and without Tuuri there to translate all the time he feels isolated. Being with Emil helps. Scouting helps.

He is doing his job, and the job of a mage, scouting through the forest every night, exhausting himself on a daily basis to the point when he almost falls asleep on the cleanser’s shoulder whenever he stops by to lean on him.

No one comments how he tends to end up on Emil’s bunk instead of under it these days.

With Tuuri locked behind closed doors, there is no one who is able to tease him about it now.

* * *

They lose Emil in the supply raid.

After many days spent cursing and praying, Tuuri manages to resurrect the engine, or at least give it a fighting chance.

The problem is that the trolls damaged some of the pipes. As far as Mikkel is concerned, the precious fluids that they lost were worth their weight in gold in this wilderness.

Thankfully, he and Lalli manage to locate a store nearby. A quick look around the place confirms it used to be a supply shop for vehicles, maybe even a repair shop if the strange machines that they found there were any indication.

It’s exactly what they need.

It’s also full of Dusklings.

This morning Mikkel, Emil and Lalli set out to raid the shop. Lalli is literally swaying on his feet after a long and busy night, but he refuses to stay at the tank. Emil keeps sending him concerned glances on the way and the Fin can physically feel himself growing irritated. It’s his area of expertise, he can still do his job properly and he is the one with experience about trolls. He sneers at him and pushes forward. Today Emil’s concern is simply too much for him.

An hour later, Lalli finds himself concerned for Emil instead.

There turns out to be a lot more Dusklings that they expect, dozens of them, all hungry and chittering curiously at Lalli. The plan is for him to bait them and outrun them. Emil seems concerned but the scout ignores it.

He can’t stand them. He has to bait them and preferably lead them away from their nest long enough for Mikkel and Emil to get their resources.   
He does his part.

He truly believes he does.

But as he loops back to the shop after losing a big herd of Dusklings back at the forest clearing, he is greeted by a sight of a dozen more climbing inside the shop, the broken windows not being enough of an obstacle. He can see the silhouettes of his teammates inside.

He runs.

From the building he can hear gunshots, the loud roar of Emil’s flamethrower, troll’s screeching and some weird hiss he doesn’t recognize. By the time he catalogues all the sounds Lalli is at the door of the shop, facing the big silhouette of Mikkel standing on the threshold.

Next thing he knows he is flying back.

It takes a moment for Lalli to reorient himself. His ears are ringing and there is something heavy on top of him, crushing his legs. He coughs and can’t even hear himself, blinks heavily to get rid of the dark spots clouding his vision. There is a bright sky above him, painted by streaks of vibrant blue and white. It doesn’t hold a candle to the one over the forests of Saaima, but for a long second Lalli is entranced. Then he remembers where he is.

Instinct tells him to wriggle from under the obstacle that weights him down but it turns out to be Mikkel. He groans and the ringing in Lalli’s ears subsides enough for him to hear a few bone-rattling coughs the man lets out. They also sound wet and Fin absently thinks it can’t be a good sign. Then the giant man turns his head towards the shop and for a moment, just a quick, fleeting moment, his face falls.

Lalli turns towards the building fast enough to give himself a whiplash.

There lies a beast, much more dangerous than any troll.

A raging inferno swirls around the shop, weaving between the frames of broken windows and doors in a wild dance. There is a roaring sound of it devouring what once was a building, terrible screeches of metal machinery giving in and it almost drowns the keens of the Dusklings running away, their flanks burning bright in the shadows of the forest.

They run right past Lalli who is staring incomprehensibly at the wreckage, unable to move a muscle.

He thinks furiously where he saw Emil last, what exit he must have taken to escape, where even  _ is _ one other than the door and the windows facing him.

His mind finally yields and he chokes when he realizes there isn’t.

He is up before he realizes he moved, the sound of his steps on the snow deafened by the fire’s roar. Someone catches him by the coat and he turns around sharply, facing Mikkel with a hiss.

The medic holds on to him desperately, using the flailing’s scout momentum to get up unsteadily from his knees. Lalli’s trying to wrench himself away from him in blind shock, wishing to go and see with his own eyes, mind refusing to accept that Emil might be-!

There is something like a sob wedged inside his throat, suffocating him and he claws at his neck to remove it and it hurts, it burns almost as bad as the fire in front of him, unbearable hotness spreading up to his eyes, and down his cheeks.

Mikkel wraps his arms around the young man and drags him away. 

The forest is burning.

* * *

They are far away already. They drove forward as soon as Mikkel managed to hand the gasoline to a distressed Tuuri, and lock up a hissing Lalli in the storage room. The engine was working furiously the whole day to put some distance between them and the biggest beacon of sound and light in the perimeter.

When they finally stop and let Lalli out he tries to run back for the first time. Mikkel trips and catches him.

Lalli doesn’t want to hear anything from Mikkel, so it’s Tuuri who tries to explain what happened.

How both men waited for a long time for Lalli to lead the trolls away, entering the building cautiously with Emil in the front and Mikkel in the rear.

How desperate they felt when they couldn’t find any gasoline.

How brave was Emil, going deeper inside the building while the medic looped back to rummage in the rubble near the door.

About the first Duskling to notice them, and the desperate shot Mikkel had to take in order to save Emil. 

The hiss of gas escaping the pierced tank behind him. 

And the roar of flames.

Tuuri is whispering the story against Lalli’s back, choking on words and trembling, holding onto him in an awkward one-sided hug, way outside the tank when she has spotted him trying once again to go and see the wreckage for himself. He stands still and silent.

When he finally comes inside the car he makes a beeline toward Emil’s bunk. He stares at his recent spot on the bed, finally deciding to go under it, not daring to bring the pillow or sheets down with him.

If he closes his eyes, he can pretend Emil is sleeping soundly on his bunk. That he is here.

* * *

Mikkel bandages their scout the best he can. He suspects some definite hearing loss and a brutally bruised back but thankfully, other than that, Lalli seems mostly fine. It’s not like he can complain, when he also has to ask Tuuri to repeat herself louder countless times. 

He gives her a medical check, against her protests, and proceeds to Reynir who lets him check himself over without much of a fuss. He prepares food in advance.

The snow in Mikkel’s body and soul feels impossibly heavy, even when it’s starting to spill.

Rynir doesn’t cope well. His naive hope is crumbling, fraying at the edges like the hem of the sweater he curls himself up in to cry when nobody’s looking. He calls for Onni over the ashes of what used to be the entrance to his dreamspace. He begs the gods. 

He believes they suffered enough.

He may not have had much in common with Emil and their initial encounter couldn’t have gone any worse than it did but in his heart there is enough space to grief for a friend that might have been.

His heart feels too big for his body now.

Tuuri is babbling. She physically feels the absence of two of her teammates and the silence they left behind. She can’t stand it so she tries to converse and monologues and takes Mikkel’s weak grunts as enough confirmation to keep talking.

She moves her mattress to the door of her confinement to stay as close as possible to Reynir when he comes to keep her company, weeping softly through the door and pretending to not hear similar sounds coming from the other side.

She misses contact, the happy atmosphere, her cousin who she hardly ever sees anymore and, more than anything, her heart aches for the company of her brother.

She wants to hear everything will be alright.

* * *

It’s definitely not alright.

Lalli escapes.

There is no better word for it, even if the hastily scribbled note left for Tuuri says otherwise. She gets as far as reading ‘soul’ and ‘ruuno’ before she is out of the tank and screaming for him to come back. She knows enough. Emil isn’t even finnish, his soul is not for Lalli to guide to the afterlife, and they need Lalli  _ here _ !

He is too far away to hear her.

He also doesn’t hear the last rattled breath Mikkel takes in the darkness of his bunk, nor does he experience the shock Reynir feels when he finds him.

He and Tuuri discover the freshly wrapped bandage around medic’s torso, where the shrapnel from the explosion had pierced. There is dark blood seeping through the wrapping, and they can see remnants of sutures he must have given himself before collapsing. 

The area around the wound looks bloated, an unnatural shade of angry purple, covering his side in an angry network of interlocking veins. 

The blood hasn’t even dried yet. 

Tuuri buries her face in her hands as both of them fall into hysterical sobs.

Last night he took care of them and fed them and made sure they felt well. 

And now he’s gone.

They can’t leave him, they can’t take him with them and, most importantly, they can’t stay here.

* * *

Lalli is running.

The trees are passing him by, snow flies under his feet as he races back through the forest. He can feel the soot on his cheeks, left by the burning tears he has shed.

Others don't see them but they stain him. They show the way warmth escaped from his heart. 

Usually he goes with the map in mind, a specific plan. He is usually prepared. This time he rushes blind and can almost hear his cousin berating him and nagging, probably crying over his utter and incomprehensible idiocy.

But Reynir said Onni is still recovering from helping them, and Lalli doesn’t have the luxury to wait to ask him for guidance in this matter.

Emil’s soul may still wander somewhere.

Swedes are atheists, they have no gods to guide them, no place to go after their demise. And his friend didn’t die peacefully. If there’s even a slight chance he is out there, alone and confused, Lalli is determined to find him.

It’s the least he can do for the boy who carried the warmth of the sun right into his heart.

He does not hear the beast, he doesn’t even sense it over countless others he has already passed in his search.

What once used to be a dog appears at his side, easily keeping stride on too many legs it sports under mangled and bloodied fur. Lalli has a split second to notice it in the corner of his eye when suddenly it barges into him and sends him tumbling down the slope.

His legs are still sore from the last fall and he is slower than he would like as he springs up to his feet, right at the edge of the clearing the dog beast threw him into.

His ruuno stops it from following him as the beast whines loudly, hastily backing up and disappearing behind the hill.

Lalli lowers his knife and breathes the sigh of relief, just before he feels the threat coming from behind him. He whirls back but it’s too late.

There is a pond in the middle of the clearing, ice reflecting ruins of the old molo and the cottage that looms over it, overgrown and barely resembling any shelter.

Still, it seems to be enough for a troll.

A shadow moves under the crooked remnants of the porch and Lalli only has a moment to realize he’s looking at what’s left of the house’s resident. The troll shuffles, flexing its long arms, and there seems to be a fishing line entangled in them that ends beneath the scout’s feet. When the monster suddenly yanks the threads, Lalli trips over. He lands on his back, and the pain from his bruises is jarring enough to knock breath out of him. His dagger can barely cut the nylon strings wrapped around his ankle as the troll begins to reel him in towards the cottage and the pond.

Thankfully, finally, the young mage collects his breath and starts a ruuno meant to confuse and disorient and the troll seems to slow down his movements.

With one final slash Lalli cuts away the last string that was tethering him and rolls sideways to avoid any more traps. He crouches carefully, keeping eyes on the cottage troll that doesn’t seem to realize his prey escaped.

He keeps his back to the pond and he is too close.

It’s the last mistake he will ever make.

Webbed hand curls itself into his hood, yanking him backwards and straight into the water.

He turns in its grasp and in the dark water there is just enough light to flash off the big teeth of the monster that may have once been a woman, her beauty all but an echo now.

He slashes at her and the troll lets out a pained scream, drifting away, only to grab the mage again, more roughly this time and start to descend deep into the pond.

Lalli keeps fighting, slashing and kicking and in the far back of his mind he thinks Sigrun would have been proud of his attempts. Emil would have probably scolded him, or just hugged him after all of it was over, scared out of his mind by the situation Fin put himself into.

There is burning in his throat and as his thoughts slow down to a lazy stream he wonders where it comes from. He feels cold, so cold…

* * *

Tuuri and Reynir bury Mikkel close to one of the buildings they passed earlier on their way. 

It’s Tuuri’s idea, as a source of materials for a proper burial and a landmark, as she leaves behind the message for Lalli, knowing he would be able to scout their tracks when he comes back. 

They don’t have to walk far. She drives them almost to the front gate of an old stone-and-brick building they chose. Reynir steps out and makes an improvised bank for himself so he could drag the body of their friend, meticulously covered in blankets and supported on the crate's lid, down to the ground. He moves automatically, pulling and pushing, until he stands next to the remnants of the building’s most crumbled wall. He stops and stays still for a long minute, until Tuuri’s soft calls jar him into action.

There is a narrow trench in the ground here, and Reynir moves the body carefully until it’s perfectly aligned and fitted into a make-shift coffin. He thinks about uncovering his friend's face but quickly discards the idea. Wrapped in a grey blanket, surrounded by bricks from the damaged wall and snow, the body looks like a long stone itself, already covered by the white coat.

Then, Reynir begins to gather the bricks.

It's slow work, even if the stones lay all around him and the body is already half-buried under the snow. Each brick he moves chafes against his gloves and soon they are worn down almost to the point of being useless. Reynir arranges the stone bricks in the shape of a ship, as big and detailed as he can make it. He only saw a ship once in his life. 

That ship was supposed to take him on an adventure. To give him something to share with his siblings, finally let him see the world as it is, instead of through their stories and insights. 

And yet, all he can see now, all he will ever see whenever he closes his eyes from now on, is a burial site.

He’s sweating under his coat, and his fringe lays flat on his brow impairing his vision but still he manages to finish the grave. With trembling fingers he carves the rune of protection on one brick, then gently lays it on top of the pile.

He stands there lost, unsure what to do now. No song he knows can properly respect the brave Dane, his companionship, his bravery and his sacrifice. He remembers there were many, sang in his family on a rare funeral occasion and kept alive for generations, but he simply can’t recall them now. No shepherd’s song would do Mikkel justice. He will have to leave this part to Tuuri and hope for the best.

He gives the site one final teary look, full of regret, and climbs uphill to the car.

He signals Tuuri that it’s safe to go and she darts out of the vehicle and into the building.

After a moment, he can hear her sobbing.

Reynir feels empty.

* * *

They wait a week for Lalli to show up.

By the second day, one night after the burial, they try to contact the base again.

The radio stays silent and after almost dismantling it out of sheer frustration, Tuuri finds a burned out fuse deep inside the machinery and promptly breaks down into tears again. It would be easy to fix, if only she had the mind to do so, but now, coupled with severed wires left from the troll’s attack, it’s unsalvageable. They have no way of informing anyone back home what happened.

At this point she starts to wonder if they even  _ have  _ a home, or maybe the happy memories of safety are just delirious dreams she had on their trip, and the Silent World outside was their only reality.

By the third day she wakes up convinced her cousin is dead. He never stayed away for this long. She allows herself a day to mourn him and sing her ancestors’ song to guide him. Until Onni can help her, this will have to do.

By the fourth day she is ready to move the vehicle forward but Reynir  _ pleads _ .

By the fifth day they break the rules of quarantine.

It’s Reynir who comes up and towards his teammate, desperate for contact, a conversation, even the sound of her being alive and breathing.

She doesn't turn him away and instead clings to him as she weeps. He curls his long limbs around her small form, his own despair coming to the surface in searing hot tears. They shake and cry, the last bits of naivety draining out of them in waves and cold brutality of the Silent World seeping into their bones.

The sixth day they start to run out of the cold meals Mikkel prepared for them and have to resort to meek attempts to start a fire and cook more.

They are paranoid, setting up alarms and gathering berries but not eating them as they couldn’t judge if they’re safe to eat.

Their meals taste like ash.

When the seventh day arrives, they start to move. Tuuri thankfully wrote down the order of things that should happen during the trip and dates of specific events, including the date of their supposed comeback. She is moderately hopeful they can make it in time, and Mikkel’s and Lalli’s earlier efforts at mapping the way prove extremely helpful.

They manage to move a considerable amount of miles in the right direction when the bandage on her neck starts to itch.

* * *

They are standing on the bank of the sea, side by side.

Wind blows through the space over their joined hands and makes Reynir’s braid whip wildly behind him, the only piece of him that’s moving.

They’d forgone the masks completely. They don’t need them anymore.

When Tuuri found out Reynir wanted to go with her she was furious, then desperate and finally crushed when he didn’t budge despite her pleas. They didn’t know if he’s infected already but they suspected so and he was more terrified of finding that out later than assuming it at the moment. 

He knew very well he didn't stand a chance alone.

Now Tuuri allows herself to feel a little bit grateful over his sacrifice. She holds his hand with all her might and tries to mute the whispers she hears over the sound of the waves.

She turns to him, and finds him looking impossibly sad but smiling weakly nevertheless.

They will stay together until the end.

* * *

When Tuuri starts awake she is wheezing. There’s an echo of a pain in her chest and it still haunts her as she rolls over and props herself up on hands and knees.

She doesn’t know what happened.

There is stone under her and dark, deep water around her, but the horizon is nowhere in sight. Only the white fog. The water surface looks oddly still and she squints at it, when suddenly there is a giant’s eye looking straight back at her and she screams, arms flailing and body tipping backwards.

Someone catches her and she can see the giant cowering, quickly disappearing back into the depth.

She turns around and finds herself face to face with Reynir.

_ Almost _ face to face.

He is bigger than she remembers, stands tall and bright against the misty surroundings. There is a dog at his side, bigger than any she’s ever seen and it leisurely strolls over to circle her. Trolls seem to cower from the mere sight of it.

Only now does she realize the rock she is standing on is barely big enough for herself. 

Reynir seems to be standing on water.

Since when can Reynir walk on water?

She looks up again and he greets her with a weak smile. There is something about him she finds hard to recognize, some change she thinks she will see if only she squints and starts to look for impressions instead of reality. He seems vibrant and warm, like the only real thing she can pinpoint in here, his edges sharp and focused, so vividly real against the blurry surroundings it makes her eyes water from the sudden change.

His eyes look more green than she remembers and remind her of Saimaa’s fields and her mother’s garden and she feels more at peace than she has ever felt.

She has many questions but what comes out is:

“I’m glad I had you until the end.”

Reynir’s smile grows and it almost blinds her as he leans in to look her in the eyes.

“Tuuri Kaino-Vieno Hotakainen, forger of words and keeper of memories, this story has just begun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry!  
> Throw in the comment if you want to scream at me ;).


	2. Sigrun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, Thank you so much @Kat_o_nine_tails for beta'ing this for me. You're a genius!

Everything is quiet.

That’s the difference she notices right away, floating somewhere between consciousness and a trance void of dreams. She feels weightless and limp, drifting without anything to catch onto.

Until she feels a hot, wet gust of breath on her face.

She frowns and her face scrunches up, as she reaches up on instinct to swat at whatever disturbs her rest.

Her hand catches on something warm and fuzzy and she suddenly realizes where she is and what has happened.

Sigrun’s eyes open and her head shoots up, colliding with something. 

Said something lets out an undignified neigh, rearing its head back.

When Sigrun rolls out of the way and lifts herself up to the crouch, she stands face to face with one unhappy horse.

It whinnies at her, dancing in place nervously. 

There is a shiny tack on it, starting with golden reins tied neatly to the bridle, through the warrior saddle laden with weapons, down to the armored leg braces. It looks brand new and dangerous and extremely unfit for the Silent World entirely. 

“What the ever-loving…” murmurs Sigrun, slowly standing up and assessing her surroundings.

She is still in the cellar of the building that they have fallen into. The place where the troll came from, a dark, wet alcove underneath the ruined stairs is empty. There is a fine layer of dust covering everything, including herself.

With no obvious danger in sight, Sigrun finds herself standing right underneath the opening Mikkel has created to help her crewmates escape earlier. The sun is no longer shining and the soft light of the moon illuminates the place instead.

Her rifle lays abandoned under the debris nearby and she reaches for it carefully, but the weapon falls apart in her hands. Broken in the scuffle, it seems.

Side-eyeing the suspicious and nervous horse, Sigrun slowly moves towards the opening above her, trying very hard not to make any sudden moves.

She has no idea how the bloody animal even got here!

The last thing she remembers is the sight of Emil's boots disappearing over the edge and Mikkel reaching out towards her. There's a dull ache where the rest of this memory is supposed to be, which Sigrun easily recognizes as a concussion, something she is no stranger to.

What puzzles her the most is the night sky she can see outside, and the obvious lack of her crewmates around her. Surely the lack of trolls must mean they got rid of it somehow, so why would they leave her here?

None of them struck her as being cold-hearted enough to do so, even if she did suffer a serious blow to the head. This headache was killing her!

There's also the issue of that horse.

The disturbing animal seems content to stay far away from Sigrun, avoiding her gaze and she takes this opportunity to quickly turn her back on it and jump up toward the hole. She manages to catch the edge on the first try and grins as she pulls herself up.

Her smile quickly falters when she feels something behind her, only to realize that the horse apparently decided to help her climb out by supporting her backside with its head.

Now, that's just embarrassing.

Sigrun climbs out of the hole swiftly, rolls forward on instinct, and stands up slowly. The building surrounding her is in complete ruin. What's left of the walls and ceiling is laying in shambles before her. The moon shines extremely bright this night and in its light the entire area looks depressing and desolate.

Snow is falling, slowly covering any tracks of recent demolition.

It's also starting to cover the few tracks that Sigrun can see and she kneels in the snow to examine them.

It's unsettling, to see the footprints of her crewmates circling back towards the treeline where she remembers the car being parked. The thought that they could just leave her here is deeply disturbing and Sigrun quickly shakes her head to get rid of it. They must have had a good reason.

And they better be ready to present it as soon as she finds them, she swears under her breath. Or else she would slap all of their names on the Mutiny list.

The way she's kneeling she can keep the hole in her peripheral vision but is still surprised to see the horse leaping out of it with ease. It's long legs are tucked neatly against it's torso and its neck is gracefully bowed as it practically flies through the air, ignoring the laws of physics.

Once it lands on the ground it gives Sigrun a nasty side-eye, shaking out its mane in the breeze.

Well, that was impressive, Sigrun can admit that much. She wonders what kind of face would Mikkel make upon seeing this feat. She smirks.

The horse seems to run out of patience. It looks Sigrun straight in the eye and then neighs loud enough to attract any and all threats in a one klick radius. Sigrun swears under her breath and runs towards it, catching it by the reins in an attempt to calm it down…

Only to stop once she realizes what covers her forearm.

Instead of the white uniform she has grown to recognize during the trip, there is a gleaming steel bracer latched onto her forearm, with swirls of gold decorating its edge and sides. Her white gloves are gone and she can see soft dark leather instead, seamlessly fitting under her armor and coming up to her elbows. 

As she slowly runs her eyes up and down herself she can see her whole body is covered in similar protection. There is an unfamiliar crest decorating her chest and she touches it absent-mindly, while her brain screams at her to remember something very important…

As she suddenly hears a sound of wings in the breeze and snaps her head up to look at the rapidly incoming shapes in the sky, her memories swiftly lock into place.

"There you are sister," smiles the first Valkyrie to touch the ground on her winged steed. 

"You certainly took your time," admonishes the other, but she is smirking and with a start Sigrun realizes that she wears the face of her cousin, or maybe her first love, or someone else she holds dear to her heart. With a shake of her head she looks again.

This time the woman looks different, still as beautiful and kind but also deadly, with a giant sword strapped to her back and wild burgundy hair braided with gold strands and carved metal beads.

"Hildr," Sigrun recognises her and the grin she gets in return is equal parts wild and relieved. There are more Valkyries landing beside them and laughing with mirth, the snow around them dancing wildly in the sudden breeze.

"I missed your ugly mug," says Sigrun, grinning back at the second woman.

"Although I didn't expect you all to come for me in person. Did the people of Norway forget they are warriors? Don't you guys have an actual job to do?"

Hildr scoffs and crosses her arms and Sigrun laughs loudly. The sudden motion causes an echo of pain in her chest to flare up and she grabs at it, puzzled, only to suddenly remember with acute quality the troll arm passing through her, tearing through skin, muscles, bones… all before the eyes of her crewmates.

Odin's beard, she hopes Emil managed to cover his eyes on time.

Multiple hands catch her as she sways in place and she feels affection rolling through the bond she shares with her sisters. To be of one mind again, a part of the legion, a flawlessly working creation of pure power and strength. Gods, how could she even survive without it?

As if prompted, Emil's face flashes before her eyes and she feels a spike of worry over her teammates. Little Viking, Twigs, Puffy, this big oaf Mikkel and Braids, how did they take her death? What are they doing? Are they safe?

She can feel her memories and emotions colliding against each other like a hammer striking an anvil and each strike makes her head split more and more until she feels like there are two people inside her, screaming loudly, calling,  _ hollering _ , and then just as suddenly as they diverged, the voices merge once again into her own and she straightens up in the hold of her sisters.

They let her go carefully and she makes a few steady steps forward, claiming back her steed's reins.

"Are you better now?" asks Hildr, her horse dancing impatiently in place, "It's time for us to go back, you've been absent for so long already. Makes me wonder if you even remember how to fight."

"I could win against you with one hand tied behind my back, you ass," smiles Sigrun but her eyes are locked in the direction of the forest.

She pets her horse's neck, placating it, and unties the reins from the bridle, mounting it in one swift motion.

"You can wait a little longer to find that out though," she says, urging the steed forward and sending her sisters an apologetic smile over her shoulder.

"I still have some unfinished business, someone to watch over, you understand."

Sigrun laughs at Hildr’s outraged cry as her steed grows wings and she jumps into the air, flying higher and higher until she can see in the distance the small silhouette of a fast moving vehicle driving forward in the wilderness.

"You guys are not getting rid of me that easily."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you didn't expect that, huh!? Sigrun still has some business to take care of, she is not gonna leave her team so easily. :3. Also, since there is distinctly less angst here than in the previous one: consider rereading first chapter but knowing she is a witness to the tragedies that befall her friends.
> 
> Should I run now? :)


	3. Emil

There is no peace down here.

He is an unstoppable force, a liquid power surging through the Earth's veins, constantly changing, molding, creating. He is a spiral of movement and fire, a single mind among countless others, tangled together and merging in uneven intervals.

He can feel the whispers of the ones around him, surrounding him and racing alongside the narrow spaces and wide pools of their underground home.

He missed that, the constant warmth, absolute absence of the cold, snow, rain…

He isn't sure he remembers what the rain was but he has a deep conviction that it's unpleasant.

Unless you hide from it with someone under the same coat, huddling close to preserve as much warmth as you can, and the person beside you doesn't really like the cold rain as he buries his face in your chest and you have to stay still or risk being pinched again or worse, bitten by the irritated-.

Wait, where did that thought come from?

The being slows down slightly, much to the displeasure of his companions, trying to compose himself. They don't stop, surging forward and upward as their paths divide into smaller and thinner corridors and soon he finds himself alone once again, stretched thin in the narrow space.

He is still moving upwards but slowing down, and that allows his thoughts to wander once again. He thinks he can feel the vibrations caused by something above him, sense the heat of a blooming life. 

There's a rhythm that he can sense, maybe even remember, as he climbs higher and closer to the surface, closer to the luring call of the pulse of civilisation, faint but easy to recognize.

It’s a town, he realizes with a start, almost stopping in his tracks.

He used to live in one, he thinks, used to walk the streets among other living beings, not standing out but disappearing in the crowd. 

Where was he walking to? He remembers a safe place, two big flares of welcome warmth and kindness, three little kindlings, barely reaching up to his knees.

He used to pick them up and run with them, he  _ knows _ . They were his, for him to take care of and teach and the being realizes abruptly that those could not be his recent companions.

He struggles to remember.

Memories come slowly and unwillingly but they bring him a sense of warmth and comfort: little hands reaching towards him and braiding his hair, a kind smile of an older woman, tinged with constant fatigue but happy nevertheless. A joyful hit on the shoulder from a red-haired companion, bubbling voice of their skald as she reads out loud. 

He can remember a boy who didn't like the cold rain.

It's a memory of Lalli calling his name, always with this stupid moniker, that causes the being to recognize itself.

The sudden onslaught of memories and emotions is overwhelming, causing Emil’s whole being to curl himself into a tight little ball, despite the narrow space.

Through the haze, his mind works furiously, trying to sort out what has happened for him to end up back here, amongst voices and flames.

The sight of Lalli comes to him with vivid focus. He remembers that he was barely able to see the scout over Mikkel's shoulder, over the waves of Dusklings but the sight of him running towards them, so close to the incoming explosion fills Emil with dread. 

Fire doesn't have any gods above it but Emil  _ begs _ , prays for Lalli to be alright anyway.

He pushes on furiously, once again starting the race towards the surface, hoping to get closer, recognize where he is. 

There is a scream building up deep inside of him, but beings made of fire were not made to scream.

The sound echoes in his mind anyway, as he rushes upwards, hoping that if only he’s fast enough maybe he can reach the surface, see what happened to Lalli, Mikkel, Reynir, Tuuri!

The path is narrow and suffocating and it's getting harder and harder for Emil not to get lost in the momentum of fire and raw power, surging through him, to keep his memories close and alive. He’s slowing down despite his efforts and it feels like, if fire could cry, his call would have woken the heavens.

He tucks his memories close and wraps them around himself like a blanket, once again alone, deep in the confines of the Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's really short, sorry. But yes, we can see what Emil's soul has been up to while the rest of his team was busy. 
> 
> Poor boy.


	4. Mikkel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a very short chapter I'm sorry! I'm trying to keep them all organized. Next will be longer!

The quiet is a welcome surprise.

There is some noise, of course, but the chirping of birds, the scurry of mouses’ feet and their soft calls aren’t bothering Mikkel at all. He feels like he could listen to the animals above him his whole life, and maybe he had, as far as he remembers.

All sounds are dulled here, and seem far away. They can't be compared to Sigrun's obnoxious snoring he had to endure for the last few months, or even Emil’s angry muttering whenever he was tasked with cleaning all of their assigned firearms.

They are definitely quieter than Tuuri and Reynir’s soft weeping, still echoing in his ears.

It doesn’t really make a difference anymore, he supposes. His consciousness wanders between awakeness and the sleepy haze, memories fading in and out of focus in his mind’s eye. 

He is back where he belongs, settled once again in his warm and cozy shelter, ready to fall back asleep for a long, long time, to dream of times gone past. The memories of the life left behind him are too sudden, too violent for him to entertain in his current state. So he locks them up deep in his mind, like a treasure buried deep inside a mountain, ready to be unearthed in due time. 

It’s a wondrous wealth to possess and he is ready to guard it patiently until the end of times.

There is a disturbance, soft steps and careful paws tickling him, somewhere up on his back. Mikkel briefly contemplates reaching up and swatting the passing animal away, but before he can make up his mind it’s already gone.

He supposes he forgot about those little, unassuming bothers that can rouse him up from his slumber. At least these days the only thing he needs to watch out for are animals, and they are a passing feeling, too quick for him to notice most of the time. 

He doesn’t miss the machines, the people and the never-ending rush and speed they used to move at, unearthing the mountain he is a part of and sometimes even hurting him in their pursuit of wealth and resources. It always took just a blink for him to see years of damage they’d done.

Still, he gave them his all, like the mountain gives, even as he watched old beings like himself die out one by one, or fall into dreamless slumber, never to be awakened again. Humans are greedy and they can be mindless but they are also curious and nurturing, and he always itched to repay those that showed his home compassion.

All things considered, his wish came true, if only for a moment. Mikkel hopes that Reynir, Tuuri and Lalli managed to finish what they had started, with or without his help. As unlikely as it sounds, hope is the only thing left for him now.

That, and faith in the boy that came to him so long ago, with serious eyes and an unthinkable proposition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonder who is Mikkel putting so much faith into? 
> 
> As always, comments are a blessing so feel free to ask me things! Also, you can try guessing what Mikkel may be. ;)


End file.
